


The New Yorker

by imstressed



Series: The New Yorker [1]
Category: King of the Hill
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Lawyers, New York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imstressed/pseuds/imstressed
Summary: A fast walking, fast talking, high-power lawyer moves to Arlen, TX.





	The New Yorker

 

Mel arrives in Arlen and is invited to a welcome cook out at the Hill's residence.

* * *

 

"Yep."

"Yup."

"Yeahp."

"Mmhm."

All of Rainey Street notices when the New Yorker arrives. A yellow airport taxi pulls up in front of the last house on the left: A blue one story with a respectably well-kept yard and a white picket fence owned by the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy (no relation to the presidential family of the same name).

"Well,  _hello_." Says one of the four men in the lineup.

From out of the cab steps a smartly dressed woman in Hollywood clothes, her red hair piled high into a tight bun. Neatly cut bangs and large reflective sunglasses hide the rest of her face from view as she stands on the sidewalk, making her look like some glamourous celebrity. Hank Hill's first impression of the woman was  _'oh no, not another yuppy,'_  followed by vague unpleasant thoughts about Hollywood-types moving into his neighborhood.

"Who's this?"

" _Peggy!"_  Hank nearly jumps in surprise at the sudden appearance of his wife, her head popping around the corner of their fence.

"A new neighbor?" Nancy has now appeared, rounding their fence to join the growing congregation of spectators.

"I think she's pretty," moons Bill.

"No," Peggy shot this down quickly, "I didn't hear anything about the Kennedy's moving—and Bill, you leave that poor woman alone." According to Peggy, the Kennedy's had recently won an all-expense paid trip to the Caribbean. "She's probably just a house-sitter." Peggy reasoned.

"Well shoot, we could have had Bobby do that for them…" Hank says, scratching his stomach in thought, "where on Earth did they find  _her_?" She certainly didn't look like a local.

Peggy clapped her hands. "Oh! We should invite her to our cook-out tonight, Hank! Get to know her, welcome her to the neighborhood."

"I think the more neighborly thing to do would be to leave her alone," says Hank, trying to tell his meddlesome wife that he did not like that idea without saying he did not like that idea. "Let her settle in first."

"Oh nonsense, she'll have all afternoon to settle in, she should be ready by this evening—oh, it's a good thing I baked one of my brown-eyed Betty's this morning, else I'd have nothing to welcome her with." Peggy says, her hands fluttering as she dithers about. They watch the woman struggle to remove a hefty-looking suitcase from the trunk, "oh Hank, go help the poor woman with her luggage, for heaven's sake."

"She's doin' fine on her own."

" _Hank."_  Hank sighed, setting his beer down he and dejectedly leads the group of men down the alley.

"Uh, excuse me Miss," Hank adjusted his glasses, "would you care for some assistance?" The woman turns, and at the closer proximity, he had a better look of her. She was slender and of average height, despite the fact she was wearing heels, and pretty—objectively speaking— meaning she was aesthetically proportionate and had no glaring physical abnormalities. Her face was still largely hidden behind her bangs and sunglasses.

"Oh," it was the hard and fast accent of a New Yorker. "Yeahthankyou." Hank gave a nod to the other men and they began the process of unloading the taxi.

"I'm the neighborhood's secret police," Dale adjusted his own reflective sunglasses, "I'm going to need to see some ID, social security number, and a breakdown of your yearly income."

" _Dale."_  If Hank had had his hands free, he would have slapped his forehead in exasperation. The woman shot Dale a quizzical look.

"Ifyouarethesecretpolice,shouldn'tyagoaround _not_ introducingyaselfasthesecretpolice?Isn'tthatalittlecounterintuitive?"

Dale's brows shot up and he leaned back to whisper loudly to Bill.  _"I know she's trying to communicate with me, but I have no idea what she just says."_

Bill was twiddling with his fingers nervously. He was the next to step forward, looking up at the stoic woman shyly. "Hi, I'm Bill Dauterive. I'm your new neighbor—anything you need, night or day, you come knock on my door. I'm that one down there." He points to his house, "anything you need, tour guide, hair cut—"

"That's enough, Bill," Hank says, cutting in. He may not like the looks of this new person, but that doesn't mean he's about to feed this poor lady to Bill. He sticks his hand out, "I apologize I didn't introduce myself earlier; Hank Hill. I live down the street."

"MelanieWoods." She had a strong, brisk handshake, to Hank's pleasant surprise. A small smile worked its way onto Hank's face.

"Heh, you got a good handshake there, Miss Woods." She flashed him an equally small smile, replying with a curt nod.

Dale butts in, stepping in front of Hank. "Rusty Shackleford." He shoved a hand in Miss Woods's direction.

"ButhecalledyaDalejustasecondago," she says, pointing to Hank.

"This is Dale Gribble—"

" _Hank!"_

"—He is also your neighbor, lives down the street. And that's Boomhauer—lives next door." Hank says, finishing the introductions.

" _Yo_ ," Boomhauer tosses her a wink but her face remains unreadable behind those reflective sunglasses.

" _Welp,"_  Hank yanked on his belt, "now that all your luggage here has been moved, we best be getting out of your hair."

"Sure," she gives another crisp nod and a light smile. "ThankyouforyourhelpHank,Dale,Bill,andBoomhauer." She points to each of the men as she says their name, obviously making an effort to remember them. Dale gives a grimace at his name.

As they walk away, Dale is sulking. "Why'd you have to go and blow my cover?"

"Shut up, jackass."

* * *

 

"Bobby?  _Bobby!_  Get your shoes on, we're going to greet our new neighbor!" Peggy Hill flutters excitedly around the kitchen, hardly noticing when her thirteen-year-old son finally enters from his room—eyes still glued to his videogame.

"Leave that thing there, we want to make a good first impression." She says busily, wrapping the brown-eyed betty in tinfoil.

In the alley, Peggy was greeted by Nancy with Joseph in toe, a box of crackers tucked under one arm. The boys immediately fall inline as their mothers greet each other.

"Looks like I'm not the only one to notice new hillbilly on block." Minh joins the women; a beautiful cheese platter is balanced on top of a large pot in her arms with her own daughter trailing behind.

"Hi Connie," Bobby greets his girlfriend and the children form a group of their own.

Peggy and Minh exchange tight smiles as they eye each other's welcome dishes.

"Nice platter," Peggy comments, "store-bought?"

"No, I took culinary class at fancy liberal four-year college. My food not only taste good—but looks good too!"

More tight smiles.

"Shug—" Nancy grabs the other two women's attention as a new threat appears. The woman is young (maybe early thirties or late twenties?) with a tight figure (so clearly no children), perky breasts ( _definitely_  no children) and Peggy is suddenly reconsidering her decision to invite the new woman to the cook-out tonight. She wore un-sensibly high heels (higher than Nancy wears, if you could believe it) and a silk camisole that looked like lingerie tucked into a grey pencil skirt.

"Hi!" Peggy calls out boisterously, catching the woman's attention. "Peggy Hill. Welcome to the neighborhood! I brought you a brown- eyed Betty!"

"Oh!" She was in the process of rolling one large suitcase through the door. "PeggyHill?Nicetomeetyou,IthinkIjustmetyourhusband."

"Uhhh….  _Yeah_."

"Nice to meet you, shug, name's Nancy Gribble." Came the soft, soothing drawl of Nancy Gribble. "This is my son Joseph, say hi Joseph."

Joseph, who had gone red in the face, kept his eyes glued to the ground as he mumbled out an awkward "hello". The red headed woman opens her mouth to speak.

"I'm—"

"Minh Souphanousinphone," says Minh Souphanousinphone, cutting in. "What's your occupation and yearly income?" Then, as if suddenly remembering her manners: "Cheese platter and lamb stew?"

"And we're Bobby and Connie, since nobody seems to think we're important enough to introduce us." Bobby says, shouldering his way past his mother to offer his hand the way his dad had taught him. "What's your name?"

"MelanieWoods." Says Melanie Woods, giving Bobby a firm handshake and flashing a smile.

"Welcome to the neighborhood, Miss Woods!" Repeats Peggy, "not only did I come here to gift you one of Peggy Hill's brown-eyed Peggy's, but my husband and I are also having a cook-out tonight and well, we just thought it would be such a good way for you to get to know all of us! After you settle in, of course."

"Well—" she tries to speak again.

"Great! We'll see you tonight at five. Hank's grillin' burgers!" Peggy chirps before proceeding to dump her dish into Miss Woods's arms. Nancy and Minh quickly follow suite, leaving the new woman on her own front stoop that only the very top of her red bun was visible.

"Uh…"

"Kids, why don't you help Miss Woods with the unpacking." Peggy orders. No one is given a chance to object before the three mothers are off back down the alley, already deep in discussion.

"Did you see those  _heels?_  I thought only queer performers and trannys wore those."

"Are you kidding? Might as well not wear top with how deep v-neck was on flimsy little shirt—barely covers anything…"

The three kids look to Miss Woods, struggling with all of the food their mother's had just bestowed upon her.

"Here, let me take that," Connie offers, taking the box of crackers and the cheese platter off the top.

"Thanks." Miss Woods smiled, blowing a lock of red hair out of her face.

"Welp, come on Joseph," sighs Bobby in resignation as the two boys start to wheel the three large suitcases inside. Joseph, with considerably less struggle than Bobby, dropped the first case on the green carpeted floor of the living room.

"No offence, Miss Woods, but what did you pack in these things? Bricks?" Bobby puffs.

"Sorry," Miss Woods moves to the kitchen, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor rhythmically with Connie in her wake. "Ibelievethatonehasmylawbooksinit."

"You're a lawyer?" Connie asks.

"Mmhmm."

"What kind?" Joseph asks, plopping down on the floor next to the suitcases.

"Criminaldefense."

" _Woah,"_  all the kids chime in unison. Then all three are filled with their own questions, talking over each other in an excited clamor.

"Have you met a murderer?"

"Have you been on real crime scenes?"

"What's the craziest death you've encountered?"

"Woahwoahwoah!" Miss Woods flaps her hands, silencing them. "Inorder:yes;infact,i'lldoyouonebetter,I'vemeta _serialkiller_.Yes, several. Andonetimeamanmurderedhiswifebecauseshewasgoingtoleavehim,andhestoredherbodyinaglasstankforthreeyeardsbeforeanyonefoundher."

Bobby was staring to get used to the fast way Miss Woods talked, so to translate that into English it would be:  _"In order: yes; in fact, I'll do you one better, I've met a_ serial killer _. Yes, several. And one time a man murdered his wife because she was going to leave him, and he stored her body in a glass tank for three years before anyone found her."_

"That's insane!"

"That's so cool!"

"That's so creepy!"

"Yeah!" Miss Woods laughs, smiling at the three thoroughly enthralled kids on her living room floor as she reclined against the wall. "Defintelyallthosethings."

* * *

 

"Hello?" Came an unfamiliar voice.

From behind the grill, Hank felt his spirits sink as Miss Woods came around the corner into his backyard. She had changed from earlier, donning an even more—ah hem— _eye catching_  camisole and switching out her heels for an even higher pair. Her sunglasses were gone too, Hank was able to reassess her as a woman with dark brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose, which only added to her yuppy-ness.

" _Oh good lord! —_ Uhm, I mean, welcome! You're right on time—five minutes early, in fact." Peggy calls cheerily, quickly hiding her shock and waving to the woman.

Hank was getting better at understanding the fast-talking New Yorker. Like Boomhauer, it took the ear a while to adjust to their unique ways of speaking.

"I would've been earlier, but I stopped at the store. I didn't want to show up emptyhanded—I hope everyone likes champagne."

_Champagne at a cook-out?_

"We already have  _beer_." Hank says curtly, gesturing to the cooler filled with  _Alamo Beer_. Any points she might have earned with that good handshake earlier were lost.

"Oh, that's quite alright," Peggy says quickly, "I'm sure the ladies would love some. Why don't I go grab some glasses from inside?" Peggy darted off inside and Miss Woods stood there awkwardly, cradling the bottle of champagne.

For now, it is quiet, nothing but the sound of burgers grilling. The vultures haven't found out she's here yet.

"Sorry," she says. "I suppose champagne is a bit unsuitable for the setting. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, it's alright," it wasn't really alright, but she seemed appropriately apologetic. " _You_  can drink it, if anything."

She nods.

"Hey, fresh meat!" Shouts Kahn.

And then the vultures came. Hank almost felt pity for the woman as her figure was soon swallowed up by the Souphanousinphone, Bill, Dale, Boomhauer, John Redcorn, and the kids. Everyone talking over one another, question after question. Boomhauer kept having to yank Bill back when he got uncomfortably close to Miss Woods, Dale kept trying to instigate staring contests with Miss Woods to establish dominance, but as far as Hank could tell, Miss Woods won every time.

"Alright! That's enough, you all!" Peggy shouts, now back with four glasses in hand. "Dinner's just about ready, so go sit!"

Hank can't help but chuckle inwardly at the sight of Miss Woods, perched on one of their patio chairs in her Hollywood clothes, sipping champagne. There had been a bit of a fight on who would get to sit next to their new guest, Bill and Joseph dove at the chance but the two were batted off quickly. Boomhauer and Leanne eventually took her flank. The sight reminds Hank of one of Bobby's old children show sing-a-longs  _"One of these things is not like the other. One of these things doesn't belong."_  Everyone else filled in the empty seats.

Now that they were sitting, the inquisition could begin.

"So, Miss Woods," Peggy starts, "where are you from?"

"NewYork- Melaniesifine."

"Born and raised?"

"Mmhmm."

"What your occupation?" Khan asks, brandishing his burger at the woman. Bits of lettuce and ketchup go flying and Miss Woods flinches as a bit lands too close to her.

"Oh, I can answer that!" Pipes up Bobby, "she's a criminal defense lawyer! She's worked with like—murderers, and met serial killers, and seen dead bodies n'stuff."

" _H'what_?" Hank looked from Bobby to Miss—Melanie.

"My word!" Exclaims Peggy.

Khan lets out a cackle. "You bad-guy lawyer? So you unapologetic heartless snake."

"Khan!" Nancy says scoldingly.

"What? That compliment!"

"Yup," Melanie sips her drink, "that'sme—theunapologeticsnake-woman."

" _Are_  you actually a snake-woman?" Dale asks conspiratorially, leaning all the way forwards until he becomes in danger of falling into the pile of corn on the cobb and his wife yanks him back into his seat.

"Wouldn'tyaliketoknow?"

"Speak— _slower_ —what—are—you—saying?" Dale says, over-enunciating his words.

"Listen— _faster_." She shoots back.

Hank must suppress a chuckle at this, the woman was lippy—but in a good way.

"Dang ol', don' listen, man, ol' understandin'—it—it fine, nah, man, it, sum talkin' bout  _ch-ch-ch-ch-ch!_  Nah, man ol' beautiful, girl, beautiful." Boomhauer says, subtly scooting closer.

"Well,thankyou,Ithink." Melanie says. He winks at her. She—goes back to her food.

"Anyways, how do you know the Kennedy's?" Peggy asks, returning the conversation to her inquisition.

"They'remystepmom'sparents."

"Well isn't that interesting! So, Sue Kennedy is your step mother? You know, I played softball with her in high school." Says Peggy excitedly.

"Oh," says Melanie with feigned interest.

"Bill used to date Sue, if I remember correctly." Bill nods excitedly at this. The men and women of Arlen—the one's who've been here all their lives— remember the pretty brunette Sue Kennedy.

"How is Sue these days?" Asks Bill.

"Happilymarriedtoamanoldenoughtobeherfather," she shrugs and gives a wry smile. "Shegotthatlawyermoneyandthelifensurance."

The table goes quiet.

"Well good on Sue," says Minh and then takes a swig of her champagne.

The rest of the dinner passes in a similar fashion of passive aggression, sass, and witty one-liners until the table has finally been cleared and everyone is going their separate ways.

* * *

 

I lock the front door as soon as I step inside, lest more welcoming neighbors corner me.

I want to scream.

Instead, I settle for throwing myself onto the couch and groaning loudly into one of the throw pillows. Who knew southern hospitality could be so draining? —Oh wait, I did, that's why I didn't want to come down here in the first place.

I kick off my heels and curl up on my side. My things are strewn about the little home, half unpacked, and that's when I remember the bottle of wine I had been gifted at my going away party. It's tucked safely away somewhere beneath all my cashmere sweaters and Calvin Klein pantsuits.

Ugh, most of my wardrobe is going to be far too dressy for Alren, if the women of this neighborhood are any kind of reference to go by.

Sliding off the couch, I crawl to my suitcase. Unearthing the bottle of white wine, I pad with nylon-covered feet over to the kitchen's breakfast bar.

I am pouring myself a glass right as the phone rings.

_Nooooooo!_

"Hello?"

"Well hey, girlie! How're you settling in?" Came a familiar voice.

"Dee!" I sigh in relief, throwing myself down into a kitchen chair. "Oh it's so good to hear your voice. Your non-southern-accented voice." She laughs.

"Sounds like you're enjoying Arlen so far," says Dee. Deena Leon was my roommate freshman year of college at NYU. Tall, beautiful, a socialite with a master's in behavioral science and Miss Denver for two years running. One time, when we were still undergrads, Mick Jagger snorted a line of cocaine off her ass while at a house party. "What's it like down there?"

"As you'd expect a small town in Texas to be. Rednecks, guns,  _republicans_." I say. I swirl my glass of white wine before taking a hearty swig. "The men in my neighborhood all gather in the alley behind the houses and drink beer all evening—"

"Mmm, classy." I can hear the wicked smile in her voice.

"And their  _wives_ , all peeking over their fences to see what I'm doing—oh, and there's this one guy, I think he's speaking English when he talks but he mumbles so much, I can hardly figure out what he's saying half the time. And then they have the  _audacity_  to tell me that I'm hard to understand," I rant.

"Well, you know what they say about New Yorkers. Walk fast, talk fast." Dee titters.

" _Idonottalkthatfast."_  I say quickly. "And I don't walk that fast, either," I add with a huff. "Honestly Dee, I don't know what I did in a past life to deserve three months in the purgatory." I say bitterly.

"Well," Dee starts, "I don't know about  _past lives_ , but I can tell what you did in  _this_  life to—"

"Alright, that's just about enough." I say, cutting her off. "I don't want to talk about Arlen, how's New York?" I can hear boisterous chatter coming from the background on her end. "Are you out right now?"

"Yeah, Cynthia had to puke real quick so I thought I'd give you a ring— I heard she's gunning for your old title as Head Associate for Hartford's team."

"That rat," I sniff. The background noise gets louder, something is said to her, but I don't catch what.

"Huh? What was that?— Listen Mel, some of the boys from Bloomingdale's are inviting us to a penthouse party on the upper west so I gotta go."

"Wait—what? But I still gotta tell you about—"

"Talk to you later, Mellie _, bye!_ " She chirps. The line goes dead.

" _Damnit._ " I swear, finishing off my glass before pouring another.

It's just enough time for me to undress, but not enough time for me to turn off all the lights and pretend I didn't just hear the doorbell ring. I contemplate playing dead.

"Hello?" I say, loosely wrapping a silk robe around myself.

Leaning against the doorframe with a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm was none other than Boomhauer.

" _Yo_."


End file.
